


Someday I'll Make It Out Of Here

by lecastellet



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Break Up, First Kiss, Heavy Drinking, Hospitalization, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 16:31:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecastellet/pseuds/lecastellet
Summary: “Pierre, we need to talk.” The Monegasque started. He walked up behind the Frenchman and laid his hand on his shoulder. Pierre didn’t look up, he already knew what was coming. Their relationship had been very difficult for the past few months. They had fought for hours every day, they did their best to avoid each other on the grid and when they were alone, they cried. They were both hurting but nothing could make up for what Pierre had done.





	Someday I'll Make It Out Of Here

**Author's Note:**

> This sucks ass but whatever

“Pierre, we need to talk.” The Monegasque started. He walked up behind the Frenchman and laid his hand on his shoulder. Pierre didn’t look up, he already knew what was coming. Their relationship had been very difficult for the past few months. They had fought for hours every day, they did their best to avoid each other on the grid and when they were alone, they cried. They were both hurting but nothing could make up for what Pierre had done. 

Charles had come home after shopping for groceries one night, walking in on Pierre laying on the floor, motionless. He could feel his heart sink. Beside him was a barely full bottle of scotch, some of what remained spilled over the carpet floor. The Frenchman’s face was pale, beside his mouth on the floor laid a pile of vomit. Charles immediately dropped the full grocery bags on the ground and ran over to his barely breathing boyfriend. He could feel tears spill down his cheeks as he checked his pulse. “Pierre” Charles had cried out as he stroked the Frenchman’s cheek, he remained unresponsive. His pulse was very weak, but still present. The Monegasque reached into his pocket for his phone and dialed the emergency telephone number.

The ambulance arrived within minutes, but the minutes seemed like hours to Charles. Every second was potentially a second closer to the death of his boyfriend. He was shaking, afraid that this would be the end. He was afraid that this person he loved so dearly would end up being solely a memory. 

The Frenchman had had a drinking problem for a long time, but with Charles’s support he fought and managed to stay sober for two months, until that evening. He was alone for hours, and he couldn’t cope with the voice inside of him telling him to reach for the bottle again, to drink away his pain and fears. He couldn’t manage anymore and snapped. He went down to the liquor store and bought a bottle of Scottish whiskey. The feelings of guilt ran over him as he headed back into the apartment, he had been doing so well trying to cope. Maybe Charles didn’t have to know. 

In the hospital, Charles sat on an uncomfortable plastic fold chair beside his boyfriend’s bed. He was tired, his head was pounding after crying for the past couple of hours. His arms were folded on the edge of the bed, his head resting on top. He had tried to get some sleep but he wanted to be there when Pierre would wake up again. The doctors had told him his blood alcohol levels were way too high, but not high enough to kill him, fortunately. He was going to have to stay for a couple more hours until they were certain he was going to be alright. The doctors had asked Charles about his partner’s drinking behavior, but he didn’t feel like answering their questions at all. He just wanted to go home, with him.

A couple of days after the incident, Pierre had almost fully recovered physically. He was still struggling with keeping his hands off the drinks cabinet, but Charles was there to support him at all times.

“This needs to end, Pierre,” Charles said, the volume of his voice close to that of a whisper. Pierre looked up from his phone and lifted his head slightly to face the Monegasque’s. He had his head rested on Charles lap, it made him feel safe and loved. 

“What do you mean?” The Frenchman replied, his mind suddenly overwhelmed with worry. He knew his habits weren’t healthy, neither for him physically or their relationship, but he knew he wasn’t strong enough to handle it on his own. 

“I can’t look after you like you’re some baby all the time.” Charles swallowed. The cold words hit the older boy hard. 

“I-I don’t think I understand what you’re saying.” He replied. Charles had never made comments this harsh about him. 

“You need to get help, I mean professional help. I can’t stay around you the entire time making sure you don’t lose your damn mind again. If you don’t learn to fucking control yourself I don’t know if I can keep up being in a relationship with you.” The Monegasque snapped. Pierre sat up quickly and swallowed. 

“I’m sorry?” He asked. Charles had always been supportive of him and he didn’t understand why he was acting like this all of a sudden.

“It’s selfish Pierre, you’re being selfish. I can’t stand you being too stubborn to get actual help, you know this is not something you fix on your own or with only my help.” The younger boy said. 

The Frenchman swallowed and kept a cold face. “I don’t need any help Charles, and certainly not yours.”

“Fine. You know what? Figure your own shit out Pierre. I can’t continue like this, pretending everything is fine.” 

 

There was a lot of tension between the two boys for a couple of days after. They barely spoke, they avoided any eye contact as much as possible. They didn’t even sleep together anymore, they would alternate who would sleep on the couch and who would sleep on the bed every other night, until one afternoon. 

Charles had come into the kitchen for a snack and found the older boy digging through the drinks cabinet. He had forgotten. He had forgotten to hide the drinks from Pierre. He had been struggling with figuring out if he still wanted to help Pierre or if he was going to let him figure this out on his own but he instinctively pulled the bottle from the older boy’s hands. It was empty.

“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing!” Pierre slurred his words. He was drunk, so fucking drunk and Charles wasn’t there to avoid him from getting there. 

“I’d better ask you that question,” Charles said calmly, but before he knew it, he got pushed away, literally. He stumbled back and fell to the ground, the situation had gotten way out of hand. Tears filled the Monegasque’s eyes, eventually, they rolled down his cheeks. Pierre, however, didn’t seem to give a shit about it. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” Charles cried out. “I’m going home. Figure this out yourself or get someone else to help you.” He sobbed. He got up and quickly walked to what used to be their bedroom. He collected some of his clothes into a suitcase while tears were still rolling down his cheeks. He wasn’t sure whether they were there because of the shock that his so-called boyfriend had hit him, the fact that he wasn’t able to help Pierre at all or that he couldn’t cope with the one he loved unconditionally having to suffer so much. Maybe it was a bit of everything.

The Monegasque zipped up his suitcase and left the apartment. He went down to get a cab to the airport where he got a one-way ticket back home to his parents, to Monaco. 

While waiting for his plane to arrive, he wondered if this really was the only way to cope with the situation, to run away. He felt like a wimp, but he knew this was the best option for him to protect himself. The flight was only a few hours, but it had felt like days. He had been crying for most of it, but he didn’t have any tears left to cry. His head was aching badly, he had taken some pain medication for it but the pain didn’t go away for the next few days. He hadn’t contacted his boyfriend for weeks until he had decided he was ready to go back to the place they had bought together.

It was a couple of years after they had started dating when they got their first apartment together. Even though it had been so long since they were together, they still loved each other as much as they did in the beginning. Every time they looked at each other their tummies would fill with butterflies and when they kissed, everything around them paused. They were so happy together. Pierre would often bring home flowers and Charles loved preparing the two of them a lovely romantic dinner, followed by dessert. But times had changed, and things weren’t the way they used to be.

When Charles unlocked their front door, things felt different. He had missed the happy moments of them being together, he missed the old them. Maybe they weren’t meant to be after all. 

“Pierre?” Charles called quietly. He couldn’t hear any noise coming from inside the house. He was afraid that when he looked into their living room he would find the Frenchman on the floor again, surrounded by vomit and liquor. If he did find him like that, it was definitely too late that time. He closed the front door behind him and hung his keys up on the hook. He couldn’t see Pierre’s keys hanging in their usual spot. Maybe he was too late after all.

The Monegasque was overwhelmed with an inner debate. A part of him wanted to contact Pierre to see if he was okay, still alive at least, and another part of him wasn’t ready to face him since what happened last time. Eventually, he gave in and texted his... He wasn’t sure if they were still together after all they had been through. He messaged Pierre to make sure he was okay. He snuggled up on the couch where they would normally sit together. The pillows still smelled like the Frenchman. Tears filled his eyes. He closed them softly and felt a tear roll down his cheek. Then, slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

After a few hours, his phone buzzed. He bolted up into a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. He checked his phone and saw a notification from Pierre. 

“I’m at Brendon’s,” It said. Nothing less, nothing more. He felt relieved that Pierre was somewhat okay. He trusted Brendon to look after him. A few seconds later another message popped up on the screen. “I’m coming home”

Home. Charles didn’t know what it meant to him anymore. 

Charles waited for hours for Pierre to come home, just before he was sure he wasn’t coming at all, he could hear the front door unlock. Charles looked up into the hallway, his eyes bloodshot. The older boy looked awful. 

“H-hey..” Charles sniffled and sat up. 

“Hey,” Pierre replied. It was hard to tell if he had been drinking still, but as soon as he came closer, the room filled with the smell of hard liquor. 

“You’ve been drinking again?” The Monegasque’s voice cracked. Something deep down inside him had hoped he hadn’t been. 

Pierre nodded slightly. “I’m trying my best.”

“No, you’re not,” Charles said under his breath, but he knew the Frenchman was able to hear him. 

“I’m trying to change for you Charles, things have just been a little difficult lately,” Pierre said quietly and went into the kitchen, which connected to the living room. 

“You’re only making things worse” The younger boy spoke as yet another tear rolled down his cheek. 

“Do you want some spaghetti?” Pierre said calmly, ignoring the Monegasque’s remark.

Charles didn’t reply and laid back on the couch, only to continue staring at the ceiling. 

 

Pierre was in the kitchen, slicing some vegetables for the sauce. He wished Charles could understand what he was going through. He was hurting so badly, but he didn’t want to shove that onto the younger boy. Instead, he reached for the bottle every time. He could hear the Monegasque approach behind him, his hand softly rested on the Frenchman’s shoulder. Pierre put down the knife and swallowed. 

“We need to talk.” Charles started.

Pierre knew what was coming, his eyes watered and he quickly blinked away his tears. Just blame it on the onions if he asks. He had thought. 

“I think we should break up,” Charles says. The room filled with a painful silence for the both of them. The Frenchman rested his palms on the counter and took a few deep breaths. He could feel more tears rolling down his cheeks. His worst fear of losing Charles had become reality, but he knew he was the only one responsible for all of this.

“I can’t deal with this anymore.” The younger boy added. “I can’t cope, it’s too much.”

Pierre felt his heart tearing apart and shut his eyes. He inhaled shakily, feeling overwhelmed with pain. He had experienced heartbreak before, but nothing as severe as this. “I’m going for a walk.” He cried out and went out the door. 

He tried his best to recollect himself but ended up sitting down by the edge of one of the bridges in the city, their city. He stared at the splashing water, realizing he could never find someone like Charles again, ever. A memory entered his thoughts, a time when their relationship was at their best. They would spend their nights together, snuggled up on their bed watching movies. They would play video games together for hours filled with laughter, teasing, butterflies in their tummies. They were so incredibly happy together, at that time it had felt like nothing would ever be able to come between them.

He then thinks of their first kiss. It was a couple of weeks after when they had become best friends. Pierre had come over to Charles’s house. They were alone in his room together. He remembered how he was scrolling through his phone to tease his friend, who had been so desperate to get his attention. After minutes of poking and tickling, he suddenly felt the Monegasque’s lips pressed against his. 

If he ever wanted to go back to that time, to get Charles back, he would first have to go through a long, difficult period of healing. But for now, Pierre wanted nothing more than to disappear, to get so lost no one would ever be able to find him.


End file.
